It was in such a log that James T. Kirk had recorded every detail of his encounter with Zefram Cochrane. For now, the brilliant scientist’s remaining years would be undisturbed, and his fate would remain a mystery, just as he had wished and Kirk had promised. But a century on, when Kirk’s record was released, to the delight of historians the mystery would be solved. Any resulting mission to Cochrane’s planetoid would uncover only a simple shelter cannibalized from an antique ship, an overgrown garden gone to seed, and the skeletons of two people who had lived out their lives together, untroubled and bound by love.
“Acceptable,” Spock had declared six months ago when the captain had laid out his compromise. Even McCoy had said it sounded almost logical, grimacing as he did so.
But as of now, upon hearing what Admiral Kabreigny had related to Kirk, Spock had changed his mind. “I submit that the point of such secrecy is moot,” he said. He sat with folded arms on the other side of the desk from the captain. McCoy sat beside him, his medical kit on the desk beside the viewer. “We agreed to withhold purely personal, nonessential facts from Starfleet Command, based on the assumption that what the Companion did to the Galileo, and to Commissioner Hedford, would never be repeated. However, with the disappearance of the City of Utopia Planitia under similar circumstances in the same region of space, logic compels us to consider the possibility that the Companion is once again a threat.”
“She was never a threat,” Kirk insisted. “What she did was without malice. She loved Cochrane. Cochrane was lonely. So she brought him visitors. The Companion didn’t know about Sakuro’s disease.”
“On Vulcan, norsehlat also have no conception of right or wrong, yet we do not allow them to eat our citizens.”
“What’s a norsehlat?” McCoy asked.
“A type of Vulcan wolf,” Kirk answered. But he kept his attention on Spock. “I don’t give a damn what logic compels us to do in this case. When the Companion … merged, or whatever she did with the commissioner, she lost her powers. She couldn’t keep us on the planetoid anymore. So how can she be responsible for the liner’s disappearance?”
“The Companion is an energy-based life-form unlike any ever encountered. It is improbable that we know the full extent of her powers given the short time we had to study her.”
Kirk and Spock stared at each other, neither willing to move from their position. Kirk knew the only way to break the impasse was to pull rank and issue an order. But McCoy stepped into the fray again.
“Jim’s right, Spock. I certainly got the impression that her bonding with the commissioner was permanent. What was that she said … ?” McCoy looked up to the ceiling of the small room. “’Now we are human. We will know the change of the days. We will know death.’ That sounds awfully permanent to me.”
Kirk was thankful the argument would not escalate further. He gave his science officer a conciliatory smile. “Two to one, Mr. Spock.”
But Spock was unimpressed. “I doubt Admiral Kabreigny will embrace the notion of command by democratic vote.”
McCoy added, “How did you leave it with her, Jim?”
Kirk tried to think of the simplest way to put it. He had spent two and a half hours with the admiral, going over his original report, word by word. Kabreigny had acted as if she believed some information was being withheld, but Kirk had been able to answer all her objections in detail. “Let’s call it a bluff,” he decided. He directed his attention to his science officer again. “I know as well as you do that if there is any indication that the Companion is once again capable of threatening space vessels, that I can withhold nothing from Command. No matter what I promised to Cochrane. But for now, there’s no evidence—” Kirk saw Spock about to protest and qualified his terms. “—not enough evidence to convince me that’s what’s happened.” He took a deep breath as a sudden wave of fatigue rushed through him. “I managed to convince the admiral that there was a slight possibility that a second energy field similar to the one we encountered has manifested in the Gamma Canaris region, and because of our previous experience with it, the Enterprise is the ship to investigate.”
“And how did you explain the message from a ’dead woman’?” Spock added, with so little inflection that the irony was readily apparent.
“I didn’t,” Kirk said simply. “Because I can’t. Obviously the Companion’s using the subspace transmitter we beamed down with the other supplies before we left. But since it’s a secure unit—so Cochrane could use it without giving away his location —there’s no way Command can track the signal from a distance.”
“The admiral must have asked for some kind of theory,” McCoy insisted. Kirk could see the doctor wasn’t comfortable with the idea of patients he had certified dead turning up in a subspace transmission. Kirk doubted Starfleet’s Medical Branch would be impressed, either.
But there were larger issues to be worried about here. “I told the admiral that before the Commissioner’s death, she was badly affected by her encounter with the energy field. What we’re seeing might be another manifestation of that field, re-creating an essence of the commissioner.”
McCoy frowned skeptically. “You think she believed you?”
“Not a hope in hell,” Kirk confessed. “But I wasn’t expecting her to.”
“You were just buying time,” Spock commented.
Kirk leaned against the edge of the bookshelf, too tired to stand. “Spock, there’s nothing wrong with buying time at this point. I think the admiral is just playing out the line, hoping to reel me in when whatever scheme she thinks I’m involved in explodes in my face.”
McCoy stood up and moved around the desk to the captain, medical scanner in hand. “Did she say what kind of a scheme she thought that would be?”
Kirk leaned his head back against the bulkhead as if the artificial gravity in his quarters had been turned up to three g’s. “Something ’worthy of a starship captain,’ she told me. It seems the good admiral is not all that taken with the officers in charge of what she feels should be the cutting edge of scientific exploration.”
Spock remained seated. “Admiral Kabreigny was instrumental in having the Intrepid placed under the auspices of the Vulcan Science Academy.”
McCoy kept his eyes on his scanner as he moved it over Kirk’s chest. “That’s the ship with the completely Vulcan crew, isn’t it?”
“Correct, Doctor. I believe the Vulcan approach to scientific investigation is closer to the admiral’s view of how Starfleet should be run. ‘Any military operation is automatically a failure.’ ” Spock had quoted an old Starfleet adage.
“And The most expensive army in the world is the one that’s second best,’ ” Kirk countered. It was an old debate in Starfleet and would likely remain so. There was little chance that Kirk and Spock would settle it here and now. “Spock, we don’t need to have this argument. You know as well as I do the balancing act Starfleet has to put on between its military and scientific missions. So far, I think it’s working.”
“Captain, for Starfleet to have success in any of its missions, each member must act consistently in the manner laid out by Command.”
Kirk stared at Spock, knowing what had to come next. It did.
Spock said, “I believe you should tell the admiral the complete details of our encounter with the Companion and Mr. Cochrane.”
Kirk didn’t think he was going to last much longer, and McCoy was making no move to get another miracle from his medical kit. Kirk knew he’d have to recuperate from the tri-ox on his own. He struggled to keep his mind focused. “I’ve already said that telling the admiral everything was an option, Spock. When circumstances warrant. Instead of sticking so blindly to what you think is the most logical course of events, why not give me the benefit of the doubt for a few hours?”
“I do not see what that would accomplish. In a few hours, we will have arrived at the site of the Babel Conference. Once the diplomats and dignitaries have been accommodated there, I presume we will go directly to the Gamma C
anaris region.”
“Exactly. Whatever I tell the admiral, we’re going to end up at Gamma Canaris anyway. So why say anything I don’t have to?”
McCoy agreed. “Put your damned logic to use, Spock. Assume for the moment that the captain is right—that the Companion is still merged with Commissioner Hedford and no longer has the power to divert space vessels. Now tell us, under those conditions, what happened to the liner?”
Spock took on the manner of a stern Academy lecturer. “Logic is not a poker game, Doctor. We cannot change initial conditions with a new deal of the cards. Whatever happened to the liner must be connected to the Companion’s message to Captain Kirk. She said, The man is lost.’ The Companion called Cochrane ’the man.’ If he is lost, then it is logical to assume that she is looking for him. To look for him, she might require a space vessel.”
Kirk felt his head begin to pound with the effort of remaining upright. “What if the connection goes the other way?” he asked. “What if the liner’s disappearance is linked to Cochrane being ’lost,’ and not to anything the Companion might have done?”
Spock raised both eyebrows to indicate how preposterous the idea was. “Cochrane had no way to leave the planetoid. He could not have interfered with the liner.”
“What about the other way around?” McCoy said. “Somebody got the liner, and used it to go after Cochrane.”
Spock looked away. “That would presuppose that your hypothetical ’somebody’ knew Cochrane was on the planetoid. And no one has that information except the three of us.”
“Not necessarily,” Kirk said. He could hear his voice fading as quickly as his strength. “The information is in my private log.”
“The Enterprise’s computers are quite secure,” Spock said. He had customized most of the starship’s computer programs, and it would be a point of personal, if emotional, pride to him that no unauthorized access to restricted files could occur.
But that wasn’t what Kirk had meant. “What about Starfleet Archives?”
Spock’s serene demeanor faltered for a moment, an indication of his surprise.
Kirk pressed on with his sudden revelation. “Is there any way you can check on the security of the archives without doing anything that would arouse Kabreigny’s suspicions that additional information might be found there?”
Spock considered the request. “Informally, I believe there are one or two avenues open to me.”
“How long?” Kirk asked.
“Since it would not be advisable to transmit my requests as priority messages, I estimate that responses to initial inquiries will take several hours.” Kirk saw Spock become aware of McCoy staring at him expectantly. “Seven point two hours, to be precise,” Spock said, regarding McCoy with detached curiosity.
McCoy smiled. “I knew you couldn’t leave it at ’several hours.’ ”
“Really, Doctor. I hardly—”
Kirk wouldn’t let them get started. “Do it, Spock.” If the ship had been under attack by Klingons, Kirk knew he could keep his eyes open for a few minutes longer. McCoy might even risk another shot of tri-ox. But there was no immediate crisis here. It would be safe to let his body start to heal itself. He began to relax his concentration. “How long till we reach Babel?”
“Eight point—” Spock looked at McCoy. “Approximately eight hours,” he said. Then he added, “More or less.”
Kirk saw McCoy’s expression of consternation. He hoped his two officers wouldn’t do anything foolish while he was indisposed. “Let me know as soon as you learn anything about the archives, Spock. And, Doctor, somehow I have to be in condition to speak to the delegates before they leave.”
McCoy nodded. “A few hours’ sleep will work wonders. If Spock doesn’t get word from the archives first, I’ll look in on you before we reach Babel.”
“Fair enough,” Kirk said. “We’ll reconvene then.” Then he waited until Spock and McCoy had left his quarters before he allowed himself to walk around the room divider to his bed, lie back, and close his eyes.
As he let his mind drift, Kirk thought of Cochrane. Spending four months alone in a converted interplanetary scoutship, making the first faster-than-light voyage to Alpha Centauri. Without subspace sensors or communications, the scientist had been forced to drop out of warp every five days to fix his location and adjust his course. Without dilithium crystals he had run his warp-field generators at less than fifty percent efficiency. Without Starfleet behind him or a Federation to cheer him on, he had journeyed to the stars.
Cochrane was a real hero, Kirk thought, and Kirk could never think of himself that way. Not with the power and grace of the Enterprise to carry him through the void. Not with the dedication of a crew of 430, committed to following his every order. What was heroic about that? Where was the real excitement of interstellar exploration today?
Gone, Kirk thought. Those days of true adventure are a hundred years in the past, when everything was new. He had an image of himself as a small speck riding the expanding surface of an impossibly thin bubble. The stars rushed past him, but it was the bubble that was doing all the work. He remembered a long summer’s afternoon as a child, lying under a tree with his brother, Sam, waving a wand dipped in soap, watching the glistening spheres they made ride the sun-warmed currents, floating into the sky of Iowa, so overwhelming, so enveloping.
But those days were long behind him, Kirk knew. Childhood. Bubbles. Cochrane. All his thoughts arranged in chaos, he fell asleep—
—and awoke what seemed an instant later as the computer told him Spock was outside, waiting to come in.
Kirk asked the computer the time and it told him. He had been sleeping for just under six hours. He got up, told the computer to switch on the lights, told it to open the doors.
Spock entered, as direct as a Klingon, not even inquiring about the captain’s condition. “Twenty-seven days ago, an explosion interrupted main and auxiliary power at the Starfleet Archives at Aldrin City. All security systems were down for forty-two minutes. Several storage areas were exposed to vacuum when pressure locks failed.”
“Including the storage area containing my personal log,” Kirk concluded.
“The storage cylinder containing your personal log was out of place upon the restoration of power. Several others were as well. Whether any of them were the main target of what appears to have been an attempt to breach the security of the archives is unknown.”
“It sounds as if the ’attempt’ succeeded,” Kirk said. “Do they know what caused the explosion?”
“My sources do not know,” Spock said. “Though Starfleet Security’s investigation is ongoing with the cooperation of the Lunar Police.”
“Conclusion, Mr. Spock?”
The science officer looked uncomfortable. “There is a possibility that a person or persons unknown have read the contents of your personal log and learned of the continued existence of Zefram Cochrane.”
“And went after him,” Kirk said.
“Captain, I can think of no reason why. Despite his genius, his original work has been eclipsed many times over by the scientists and engineers who followed in his footsteps.”
“Just because we can’t think of a reason, Spock, that doesn’t mean someone else can’t.”
Kirk was wide awake and alert. The knife wound still ached in his back, but the aftereffects of the tri-ox were gone. He had a new mission. He felt it was time to start living again.
Someone else had learned the whereabouts of Zefram Cochrane and gone after him, most probably not for good reasons.
And Kirk couldn’t shake the feeling that he himself was to blame.
Six
U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701-D STANDARD ORBIT LEGARA IV
Stardate 43920.6
Earth Standard: ≈ May 2366
The Romulan Warbird filled the main viewscreen, its sweeping curves and lines giving it the look of a predator about to spring forth from the distant cloud bands of Legara IV. The wavering optical haze of the ship�
�s cloaking device still clung to it as Picard and Riker rushed onto the bridge. Picard thought it odd that the ship was still decloaking, given the time it had taken him to reach the bridge, but it wasn’t the time to stop to question what he saw.
Data jumped from the captain’s chair, relinquishing command. Red Alert warning lights flashed silently. “As soon as sensors perceived a decloaking pattern I ordered Red Alert,” he reported. “Our shields are at maximum. The Romulan is not responding to our hails.”
“Weapons report on the Warbird,” Riker called as he swung his command console into its ready position.
“Romulan weapons are not on-line,” Worf growled from his tactical station directly behind and above the command chairs. The powerfully built Klingon moved his fingers over his consoles with the grace of a concert pianist. “We have not even been scanned, Commander.”
Picard and Riker exchanged a quick glance. “That’s not a standard Romulan procedure,” Riker said.
Picard stepped up behind Ops. Ensign McKnight could handle that station during Red Alert, so Data wasn’t needed at his usual post. But a replacement was needed for navigation. “Mr. Data, take the conn.” In an instant, Acting Ensign Wesley Crusher slipped out of his chair to be replaced by Data. The look of relief on the teenager’s face was evident. Piloting the Enterprise in standard orbit was one thing, but facing a potentially hostile vessel with the same responsibility was another. Picard kept his attention on the screen as his crew responded smoothly and efficiently around him. “Ops, magnify the Warbird. Keep our weapons off-line, as well, Mr. Worf.”
“But, Captain, this could be a Romulan trick to—”
Picard held up his hand to silence his security officer. On the viewscreen, the image of the Warbird wavered; then a full third of it expanded to the edges of the screen. But the image still rippled and would not come into sharp focus.
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